


A Pot For Your Ficus.

by lifelesslyndsey



Series: Mondkind [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Daddy!Derek, M/M, Mondkind Series, awww yiss, daddy!stiles, fairy baby what, magical moon flower baby, relationship is eventual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifelesslyndsey/pseuds/lifelesslyndsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few months ago, Stiles would have been rendered to hysterical laughter at the thought of Derek saying the words tummy-time, but they're commonplace now. Tummy-time, binky, bubba; Stiles himself avoids baby-talk like the plague but Derek has perfected the language to an art form.</p><p> </p><p>It’s weird.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pot For Your Ficus.

**Author's Note:**

> previously posted as second chapter of the first part of the series. 
> 
> unbeta'd but...slightly cleaned up.

 

 

 

“You have to put her down eventually.”

 

Derek eyes him from the couch, where he’s sprawled with Luna on his chest. She curls up over his shoulder almost by habit now, her little bottom seated in Derek’s hand.  Sometimes, he’ll hold her like a football, or lay her whole tiny body out on his forearm, and cradled her against his chest. The point is, if physically possible, Derek is always holding Luna.  Stiles is half convinced she might never learn to crawl at this rate. 

 

It won’t ever change. When she’s old enough to sit up, Derek will seat her on his shoulder, hand at her back always. But that’s then. Now, she’s three months old and perpetually glued to his chest (or Scotts, or Issacs, or Lydias; who ever earned the right.)

 

“She needs to learn how to crawl...to walk.” 

 

“She’s three months old.” Derek doesn’t bother to so much as shrug, just pats her diapered butt while looking shamelessly uneffected by Stiles plea. “She gets tummy-time.”

 

A few months ago, Stiles would have been rendered to hysterical laughter at the thought of Derek saying the words _tummy-time_ , but they're commonplace now. Tummy-time, binky, bubba; Stiles himself avoids baby-talk like the plague but Derek has perfected the language to an art form. 

 

It’s weird.

 

(It's hard to take a man seriously after you've heard him asking an infant if she _'wanted to take a wittle baff._ ' okay? It's hard.) 

 

“Yeah...on your tummy.”  Stiles has seen it. Derek splayed out across the living room floor, with Luna starfished on his stomach, while they watch the Wiggles on Netflix and make it impossible for Stiles to walk to the kitchen without tripping over a meaty, Alpha limb. 

 

He gets that far-away look in his eyes, the one that makes Stiles squirm. “It’s a wolf things.” He blinks, and presses the most disgustingly absentminded kiss to Luna’s hair. “My mother use to carry us around in her wolf form, by the scruff of our sleepers.”

 

Stiles can picture it and yeah... _that_. What even is his life. “Do you...you know I trust you to Alpha out around her, right? I don’t think you’ll like...squish her or eat her. So if thats a thing you feel like you should be doing...go for it, Sourpatch.”

 

Derek makes a face at the moniker but then his brows draw close and Stiles knows that look. It’s a guilty look, practically Derek’s default. “You do! You do already! Why haven’t I seen this!?”

 

Derek does shrug then, jostling Luna just enough to make her scrunch her face up unhappily. He shifts her, curls her belly-up into the bend of his arm so he can tickle at her belly. She grabs his fingers and pulls them instantly into her mouth. Derek doesn’t mind. It’s...Stiles thought his life was weird before but Baby Yoda Derek reigns above all else, including magical moon baby.

 

“I wasn’t sure you’d be comfortable with it.”

 

“So...you did it behind my back?”

 

Derek looks awkwardly away, like eye-contact with Stiles might kill him. “Yes.”

 

He’s uncomfortable; Stiles gets that. Derek has always been the better-to-ask-forgiveness-than-permission type, but he does't like asking for forgiveness all that much either. He'd rather not do any of it, probably. And he doesn't have to, because Stiles knows Derek would never let Luna comes to harm. “Do what you gotta do, man. I don’t mind. If you gotta fuzz-out on the kid on occasion, so be it. She’s your pack baby. I trust you.”  

 

He says it for the pleasure of watching Derek twitch. It’s a _happy_ twitch, just a tiny little clench of his hands where he holds Luna, a click of his jaw. It’s the most subdued _gimme_ -hands ever (regardless of the fact that he's already holding her), and Stiles really can’t get enough of it.

 

*

 

He isn’t surprised when the next time he comes down from the upstairs office, he finds Alpha Derek and Luna curled up on the floor.  Luna is on her back, between Derek’s massive paws, his hulking fuzzy head resting lightly against her belly. She’s pulling at his ears, poking at his muzzle and Derek....Derek looks blissed out.

 

Stiles already knew that the baby-smell did things to him...made him all weird and protective and glossy-eyed, and it’s still fucking hilarious.

 

He sets his laptop on the side table, and peels off his hoodie, before laying down beside the pair on his belly. Reaching out, Stiles lays a hand over Luna’s belly, and gets licked for his efforts. By Derek, not Luna.  It’s weird; Derek’s never done that before.  From the way his eyes fly open and his head lifts up abruptly, he seems just as surprised. He makes a big show of huffing, and licking at his paws, no doubt to rid himself of the Stiles-taste...and Stiles laughs.

 

“Yeah yeah,” he huffs. “Don’t think I don’t remember you telling me all about how Ms. Moon Moon smells just like me.” He tickles Luna, wiggling till his face is inches from hers, just to watch her pinched mouth spread into a gummy little grin. “Eau De Daddy, Loony-toon. You’re wearing it.”

 

Stiles pets at her hair. She has a lot, more than he thought a three month old baby should, but his dad had assured him he was the same way.  Sometimes Derek sticks barrettes in it; it’s great. He’s even been known to pull it up in tiny little tufts, the smallest piggy tails you’ll ever see. He has invested in an alarming amount of headbands and bows and frankly, freakishly large flowers.

 

Stiles is surprised if he remembers to brush his own hair, let alone Lunas; their bed head is legendary. They rock some luscious locks, okay? He just puts a hat on her. Stiles has bought a lot of those. He'll admit that he adores the tiny little knitted beanies, the ones with the animal ears.

 

*

 

It’s no surprise that Sheriff Stilinski finds them like that, an hour later, dead to the world and all three snorting for it. Derek had long ago shifted back, and pulled on a pair of pants -bless the boy, for age had proven him pretty _and_ smart.  

 

Luna was curled up between them, hands tangled in Stiles shirt as she kicked restlessly at Derek’s sternum. She was forever the light sleeper and woke as soon as her grandpa opened the back door. John scooped her up, grinning when Derek’s eyes snapped open.

 

“Shh,” he hushed him. “Don’t wake Stiles. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a week solid.”

 

Stiles hadn’t He’d been known to get invested in his jobs, going days without any real rest or sustenance.  At times, Luna’s play-pen would find itself dragged up into the office-loft.  At others, Derek would simply take her home with him, for a day or so, before he returned and forced Stiles to sleep. This had been one of those times, actually.

 

Stiles rolled onto his belly and curled an arm up under his head. body. He felt a blanket settle over himself as let himself drift back to sleep. Luna would be safe with his dad. Derek could he could catch some much-needed sleep.

 

*

 

Her name was Luna Fae.  It was Stiles’ moms middle name, and too ironic to pass up.  Luna Fae Stilinski. Plus, Derek had reasoned, should the Queen return...she’d no doubt like the hommage.

 

Her name was Luna Fae Stilinski, sometimes Moon Moon, or Mondkind, or Loony Moony or whatever nickname Stiles found himself calling her. 

 

She was no doubt the most well-loved and spoiled baby in all of Beacon Hills, with more aunts and uncles then a product of an only-child really should have had. His scratched and patched family might not have been the norm - Luna included - but Stiles loved them all the same. She had grandparents - John Stilinski and Mrs.McCall who dared anyone to call her grandma but acted the part all the same.

 

She had aunts - Allison, Erica and Lydia had jumped on that ship with brutal efficiency.  Stiles had them categorized already - Allison, the aunt you could trust to help you, Erica, the aunt you could trust to get you in trouble, but also trust that it would be worth it, and Lydia who would  probably to help you bury bodies, but well. He hoped that never came up.

 

Uncle Boyd was a walking-talking Shovel Speech; if Grandpa Shiny Badge didn’t scare off the boys, surely Boyde would.  Uncle Isaac would be Sir Boo Boo kisser and Bed Time Story reader. And then there was Uncle Scott...he who saved kittens. Judging from what a total and utter sap Derek was when it came to Luna, Stiles was glad she had three bad ass women because the men in her life were pathetic.

 

They were great. Stiles...Stiles couldn’t have been more appreciative. He was a single dad, okay? Not something he’d have ever considered. (And wasn't that a sore subject -most parents at least got the nine month incubation period to get use to the idea of being a parent. Stiles didn't. He was still getting use to it, baby in arms. Was it ideal? Not really, but it was what it was, and he _did_ love her.) But the pack made it look easy.  They fitted Luna so seamlessly into their lives.  Stiles was never in want of a babysitter. He was never in want of anything, from formula to someone to wash the dishes if he hadn’t had the chance.  He was sure he had yet to wash a single baby sock, to be honest.

 

A single dad and his magical moon flower baby never had it so easy. 

 

At four months, she still slept at Stile side. He knew what the baby books said, about the dangers of co-sleeping, and SIDS and smothering. Stiles had done his research. He'd done his research on sleeping, and teething, and feeding, and walking, and all the baby things. But...but he was still too scared to let her out of his sight. He was still too sure it was all a dream. Four months had done little to smooth that fear away.  

 

Derek, it seemed, felt the same way.  More often than not, he was sprawled out on Stiles living room floor or couch, Luna tucked into his chest.  It was only after Stiles found himself accidentally wearing Dereks boxers when their laundry was mixed, that an idea struck.

 

He’d only just scooped Luna up from Derek’s belly, when the wolf woke, eyes narrowed and alert. “Easy their, Sourpatch.”  Luna’s fingers curled into Derek’s shirt, and Stiles laughed as he extricated her, and transferred her tiny fingers to the fabric of his own button up. She was a clinger, just like her dad, so Scott liked to say. “I’m done for the day. Why don’t you go upstairs and sleep? I was thinking about taking Luna out to lunch with Boyde and Scott anyway.”

 

Okay. So it didn’t just magically occur to him that Derek spent a lot of time at his house. Thats a lie. Stiles hadn't really thought about it until Erica hit him in the face with a pillow and stole his baby. “Derek’s lease for the condo is up next month. You should ask him to move in with you.”

 

Which. What. “Derek would never be down for that. He likes his space.” That was a wolf thing too, wasn't it? Protecting the lair, or whatever. The _den_.

 

“Stiles.” Erica gave him her patented not-terribly-patient smile. “You’re wearing Derek’s shirt right now. Yesterday, he was wearing your jeans. I’m pretty sure you two share a dresser. If I were anyone else, I’d have gotten the wrong impression. The other day, I saw him at the grocery store, and he was buying that stupid coffee you like. He pretty much lives here already.”

 

“So he’s here a lot.” Stiles fidgeted, clinging to his ignorance with all the stubborness of a Stilinski. “Doesn’t mean he wants to live here.”

 

“He would live in your coat closet, if it meant he could hang out with Luna more often.” She arched a brow at him, daring him to deny it. “He is in love with your baby.  Put him out of his misery, and let him move in with you. I went over to his condo yesterday, and there was dust. On the couch. Seriously, he doesn’t even have toilet paper there. He’s never home anymore.”

 

Stiles stares at her for a long moment. “Do you think he like...imprinted on Luna?”

 

“What...like Twilight? Oh gross, Stiles. You know real werewolves don’t do that.” She looks so horrified, Stiles can’t help but laugh.

 

“No, no! I meant like...like a duck. Do you think he like...I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but he’s literally been glued to her side since the moment she sprouted out of the ground.” He scratches at the back of his head. “I mean...I don’t mind! He’s been...I’d have been lost without him, Erica. I never would have managed to...do...anything. I don’t know what I would have done.”

 

Erica’s face softened. “He’s not the first person to look at a baby and get all stupid.” She rocks Luna in her arms, tickles at her belly, at her feet. “But...yeah. I get what you're saying. And I mean, I understand sort of. It’s...it’s instinct. Every time I see her, I want to rub all over her. I don’t know how much of that is just the wolf-instinct, or how much Derek is channeling through the bond. But he loves her, Stiles.”

 

“Like his own,” Stiles finishes, because he knows.

 

“Yeah,” Eric admits, brushing a lacquered finger through Lunas hair.

 

“But...she’s not.”

 

Eric looks disappointed him him, which doesn’t even make sense. “I hope you never tell him that. He’s her Alpha. It might not be sperm-donor, but it matters too.”

 

Stiles has it in him to look chagrined. Technically speaking, he wasn’t a sperm-donor either.  “I wasn’t saying it didn’t. I just...” He doesn’t know what he justs. Or maybe he does, but he's not ready to voice it. 

 

Erica gives him an arched look, as she cradles Luna against her chest. “Talk to him.”

  


Stiles doesn’t. For all that he loves to talk, talking isn’t really his strong suit. Instead, he steals Derek’s condo keys, and starts moving his things over. Because...well. Stiles wouldn’t mind having Derek around more.  For Luna. She loves him; it’s obvious.  From the way she’ll settle down as soon as he’s in the room, or how she can go from crying to sleeping as soon as he touches her. He wants Luna happy, and Derek makes her happy. It’s not a hard decision to make.  So if he moves all his stuff, surely Derek can’t say no.

 

He can’t say no to a question that was never asked, actually. So Stiles doesn’t ask. He just...Does.

 

He starts out small. The rest of Derek’s clothes, his bedding, his books, his random kitchen crap. Most his things make their way into the guest room (not that Derek really ever sleeps in there, because Luna doesn’t sleep in there, and where Luna sleeps, Derek sleeps, so....).  He packs up Derek’s meger personal belongings into one gray plastic tote, and tucks it into the back of his jeep. His fancy pants condo had come pre-furnished, so there was no couch or bed to bother with. He did pack up the crib and the dresser last, borrowing Boyd's pick up truck and well...Boyde because Stiles can’t move a dresser on his own, okay? Those he stows away in the garage, for the time being. Until Derek has realized he lives with Stiles...lives with Luna now, and can’t be bothered to move back out.

 

He transfers Derek's mailing address to his own, and quietly waits for Derek to notice.

 

The fact that Derek doesn’t _actually_ notice until two weeks in drives home Erica’s words; Derek already lived with Stiles.  It isn’t until he’s in the kitchen pouring a cup of coffee from the fancy-shmancy pod pot Stiles kidnapped from the condo, that he looks up at and frowns. “Do...I live here?”

 

Stiles doesn’t look up from where he’s feeding Luna her morning bottle. “I don’t know. Did you re-sign your lease on the condo?”

 

Derek’s eyes flicker to the calendar tacked to the wall by the back door, frown deepening. “No.”

 

Curling Luna over his shoulder, Stiles pats her back firmly, relishing in the tiny burp she emits. “Then yes, yes you do.”

 

Sitting down slowly, Derek stares at the wall with a far-away look. It's the happy look. Stiles hates how Derek tries to blank it out, like he doesn't deserve to be happy. Because he does. Alpha's are meant to live with their packs, but it's just not logical. That Stiles would let him live with Luna is a very big deal to him. He deserves to feel happy about it.“Oh. _Oh_.”

 

Stiles lifts Luna, and offers her to Derek. “Good oh? Bad oh?”

 

Derek blinks at him, as he cuddles Luna against his chest. He immediately begins to rub his stubbly chin over her head. “Can I make her a nursery?”

 

Stiles still hadn’t. He...he hadn’t been ready to let her go. A nursery would mean a crib. A crib would mean no more co-sleeping. No more co-sleeping meant Stiles couldn't protect her. 

 

Stiles was resoundly not ready for that. Still, the fierce look of determination in Derek’s eyes, and the fresh memory of a carefully painted forest....Stiles nods.

 

“Yeah man, of course. This is...this is your den now. Do what you want with it. Boyd brought the crib and dresser over from the condo, they’re in the garage. You could have whoever did the murals in your condo---”

 

“I did,” Derek cuts in, a little gruffly. He looks down at Luna in a ploy to not look at Stiles.  

 

“Shit man, really? Wow. You’re...they were really amazing Derek.” Stiles will never not be surprised by the new things he learns about Derek Hale, even after all these years. He’s never seen the man pick up a colored pencil, so much as a paint brush. “You’ll do her room here? A forest like last time.”

 

“I was thinking maybe a garden.” Derek hummed against Luna’s hair, breathing in her baby-scent. “Maybe get some potted plants too. She seems to really like---”

 

“That fucking ficus,” Stiles finishes, eyeing the wayward ficus tree in the corner of the kitchen. It had been a weird house warming gift from Stiles neighbor Old Mrs.Clairmont. Old Mrs. Clairmont use to turn the sprinklers on Stiles when he was walking past her house on his way to the bus stop. She was a mean old woman, and it hadn’t changed. When she’d given him the plant, it had been dead. It’d stayed dead too, until Luna was born.  

 

Under her watchful baby blues, it had flourished. She stared at it as often as she could, drooling into whatever shoulder was holding her up.  Stiles knew it was the Fae in her, and it made him nervous. 

 

“It makes her happy.” Derek stares at him, as if daring him to deny it, and Stiles can't.  Luna loves the stupid tree, just like she loveds the sounds of birds outside the window, and the first rays of morning sun as they broke through the curtains.

 

Stiles took his baby back with a grumble. “One more wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

 

That evening, Derek came home with a small potted plant. “It’s a Chinese Evergreen,” he explains, setting it down on the coffee table. Luna fusses, squirming in Stiles arms to get a better look at it. Obligingly, he moves her to his knee.

 

She reaches out for the vibrant leaves, even as Stiles steadies her on his leg.  And then she did something she’d never done before.

 

She talks.

 

Not words, obviously. She's four months old. But she spits out a line of beautiful baby babble, it made Stiles heart clench.  Besides crying (and even that had quieted down since the milk issue), Luna never made a noise. She didn’t garble, or squeak, or do any of the things Google told him a four month old should do. It worried him, but the doctors assured him she was fine - she could cry after all, she wasn’t mute.  

 

“Oh my God,” he wheezes, when she began to laugh, a tiny little baby giggle that sounded like bells and sunshine and the stuff in mountain dew that makes his nose twitch (he loves that stuff). “Oh my God, Derek---”

 

“Shhh,” Derek mumbles, sitting down beside Stiles, and watching Luna talk to the plant.

 

She babbles and spits, and coo's her little heart out, tiny pale fingers curling ever so gently over the greenery, never tugging or pulling, simply holding.  Stiles is sure he’s never heard a more wonderful noise than her sweet little laugh, and he was sure he’d spend the rest of his life begging to hear more. It was beautiful, she was beautiful.

 

“We’re going to need more plants,” he says quietly, bumping his kid-free knee against Derek’s.

 

The following day, Stiles goes out and buys a potted Arrowhead Vine, and sets it on his bedside table. Luna spends thirty minutes talking to it come bed time, but she sleeps straight through the night for the very first time and Stiles feels his no-plant resolve crumble just like that.

  

“I’m not watering them,” he says to no one in particular, as he burries his face into his daughters hair.  

 

 

  
  



End file.
